


Кем ты был

by Belladonna_Q



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Alpha Relationship, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Body Modification, Experimentation, Intercrural Sex, Knotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonna_Q/pseuds/Belladonna_Q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s my Alpha.” He says quietly, not daring a glance to her.<br/>“You’re an Alpha, Steve.” Comes the automatic reply, again depleted of tone, merely stating facts. He can’t decide if it’s a blessing or a curse.<br/>“Wasn’t always.” Steve says quietly. </p>
<p>--<br/>Winter Soldier AU Setting</p>
            </blockquote>





	Кем ты был

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [你是谁[Кем ты был]- Part I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783270) by [uekinao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uekinao/pseuds/uekinao)



There’s finally calmness, and Steve’s chest gives a slight flex as he lets himself take a breath. He watches intently from behind the glass, his fingers skimming the edge of the wall and onto the smooth pane. He tells himself it’s only perimeter check, ensuring the window is shatter proof. But he knows himself better.

“Rogers.” He withdraws the hand, having the wits about him to not pull back too quickly, too obvious, as he turns to Natasha in the doorway.

Her once vibrant red curls are frayed and flattened against her fair face and four thick, black stitches seam near her hairline. There’s a slight tilt to her posture, as if favoring a leg. She looks terribly weary and battle-worn.

She smiles grimily, and Steve knows how that must hurt her split lip.

Walking forward, he notices the slight bend to her right leg as she makes her way to him. He makes no comment.

“How is he?” He asks as she stakes herself by his side.

“Induced coma, for now. That last hit should have shattered his skull, but with him a little… well, a little like you, he’s alive. The swelling of his brain should come down in a few days but with his advanced healing, that might be quicker than they think.”

“He’s strapped down like an animal.” The words don’t mean to come out as vicious as they do, and Natasha tilts her head.

“He nearly killed us, Steve…”

“I just need a chance to… to talk to him. If I can talk to him, I know I can get through to him.”

“Look, I get he was your friend. We all get that, okay? But he is not the man you knew back then. I was there, you _did_ try talking to him Rogers, and he kept right on fighting.”

He grits his teeth and looks down, hands clenching, he braces his arms against the sill, as he runs a thumb along the steel. Feeling her eyes on him, “I need in that room. I need one on one time.”

“He’s unconscious.”

“I can wait.” He wants to snap at her, irritation flaring, and the piercing impulse shocks him. Swallowing hard, he reigns it back in.

“He wasn’t just a friend.” He says slowly and Natasha doesn’t move an inch, eyes locked to the side of his face, reading his eyes as he looks back through the glass.

“What was he to you?” There’s almost no inflection. Just an agent gathering intel and his hackles rise. “I can get you in that room, but you need to talk to me.”

Mouth a thin line; Steve continues to stare ahead, to the hateful white binding straps and steel bars that contain Bucky to the bed.

“You told me at Wilson’s you trusted me Steve.” And he glances at her penetrating eyes. “You can still trust me.”

The guilt eats, just a touch, at her limp and bruised and split body caused by—

“He’s my Alpha.” He says quietly, not daring a glance to her.

“You’re an Alpha, Steve.” Comes the automatic reply, again depleted of tone, merely stating facts. He can’t decide if it’s a blessing or a curse.

“Wasn’t always.” Steve says quietly.

Natasha doesn’t move, but there’s a spark of sudden awareness in her eyes.

“The serum.”

“Yes.” He pushes himself off the sill, straightening. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“On the contrary,” there’s a sharper inflection and he turns, slightly surprised. “I understand completely. The soviets—“ She stops just short of saying it.

“They…”

“Yes. Experimented on me. Yes.” She says finally, her jaw flexing as she crosses her arms. With her bruised and broken ribs he can almost feel her pain, but she doesn’t so much as twitch.  “They wanted a perfect, assassin. The perfect spy. A female beta is seen as…” She pauses. “Weak. Inferior. Common. _Unsuspecting_ , which was the goal.”

“But there were complications. Like with me.”

“To them, I was an unexpected success. But the soviet experimentation has rendered my body infertile.” Her eyes are dark, polished stones, unnervingly unreadable even as Steve gives an understanding nod.

“You’re an alpha. A female alpha.” He clarifies and her mouth tightens just so. “But… I can’t…”

“Scent me?” She smiles ruefully, taking a casual step back. “That’s the idea Rogers. I’m trained for stealth.” He expects her to elaborate, but with her step away from him a piece of herself retreats as well and they settle into a stretched silence.

“Please get me into the room. I need… Even just to be near him. It’ll help.”

“Help you or help him?”

“Both. So…Please.”

She looks to the window and sighs.

* * *

It’s all he can do to not tear away the buckles and straps, and he watches as the surveillance camera in the corner blinks twice before winking out, Natasha’s promise of privacy fulfilled.

Small bits of sentiment, so very fragile and dusty, begin to fill him up as he makes his way to the bed. He hooks his foot around the lone, steel chair and pulls it to him as he settles it nearby, sitting against the hospital bed.

The image is obscene. Bucky, _his_ Bucky, belted and bound, tied up like a mongrel dog about to be put down. As if he were something unworthy of care or respect.

The violent compulsions roar through him, to hurt anyone who had done this, a sensation fiercer than any time he could remember on the battlefield.

But _he_ had done this.

Lost him to the mountains.

Lost him on the bridge.

He reaches, pads of his fingers lightly trailing the fabric of the bleached sheets over his still form.

“Hey, Buck.” He says softly, watching the steady rise and fall of his mate’s chest. A small, sad smile tugs at him. “Hey. C’mon now. You’re okay, Bucky. You’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you now.”

He wants to touch skin, but he’s horribly hesitant. He doesn’t know what will happen if the touch against Bucky is gentle and not harmful, as it was just hours earlier on the streets of D.C. Despite the strong stench of sterile blankets, Bucky’s scent breaks through and it’s all he can do to not bury himself in the sheets and curl around his mate. Just how they did all those years ago, playfully pushing and laughing, scenting and nipping.

His heart hurts.

“I’m sorry,” he manages; staring at the shiny, steel bars. “I’m sorry.” He glances up to Bucky’s face, and freezes.

Cold, chrome eyes pierce him, alert and unmoving.

“Buck—“

He’s gripped. Hard. Bucky’s left arm—when did it break free?—wrapping around his forearm tight. He rises and pulls instinctively, but the bionic arm holds firm, pulling him, the Alpha’s body trying to rise, struggling in the restraints.

He reacts, left arm catching Bucky’s, trying to pry it loose. Pull away. Anything.

Bucky snarls, a vicious sound that goes through Steve’s core. It makes his knees nearly buckle at the sound. Like back in the 20s. Like back in Manhattan. In the time before.

“Bucky, stop. Stop it. It’s me, see?” He asks desperately, holding back the rising reflex to strike back, to do more harm.

_The mask._

It occurs to him with a strike. On the bridge, on the street, the black, muzzled mask had obscured half of his Alpha’s face, preventing him from scenting properly, if at all.

Struggling against his own Alpha-like impulses to attack back, he controls his instinct long enough to be pulled to the bed, waist awkwardly hitting the rails.

There’s a snap, and the sound of fabric tearing as he’s pulled clean over and the grip shifts to his wrist. The bed is narrow and with two grown Alpha’s it’s anything but comfortable, but Bucky sits up as bindings shed off his body. He shifts, pinning Steve with one arm up against the rails and inside of the bed. Bucky hovers over him, and the way his eyes never blinked has Steve more nervous than the press of metals around his back and wrist.

“Bucky,” he says carefully and there’s a nose at his throat and miraculously—and later, Steve would thank God—Bucky doesn’t attack. He inhales, hot wet puffs that lights Steve’s body, groin swelling at the intimacy.

There’s a furious growl, and he opens eyes he hadn’t realized has closed. Chin to his chest, body tense and in fighting mode and Alpha pheromones roiling off his body, he is anything but the submissive, Omega partner Bucky would be pleased with.

His throat itches, tingling on his right side where Bucky had bonded with him decades ago. But something is still there, enough for the other Alpha to be curious, and a confused snarl leaves the soldier’s throat.

Uncertain, and fighting instincts new to him since his transformation, Steve lifts his chin, submitting his throat to the other, forcing his body to be as lax as possible.

He’s nearly shaking with restraint, and slow seconds pass before the nose is back, snuffling around his nape and hair and Steve huffs back gently as Bucky’s long, dark hair ghosts his collarbone.

“Bucky.” He shifts slightly, trying to catch the other’s gaze but it’s so very long and lost. “Say something. Please.”

“Mine.” Comes the rough voice and Bucky’s eyes finally catch his.

His heart lurches even as he nods, “Yes. Yours, yes.” He wants to smile with relief but he doesn’t, nervous about baring teeth to an Alpha so on edge.

“Turn over.” Bucky suddenly orders, and the hand on his wrist tightens.

That. Um. Steve swallows. Bucky’s back at his throat and he tilts it again, and long, warm laps greet him along his jawline, oddly and heartbreakingly affectionate in their thoroughness.

_Oh God._

Since his Alpha status, he and Bucky had formed an understanding. Of their bonds and sexual needs and the current restrictions his body now has. He’s not an Omega, not anymore. He doesn’t open, doesn’t heat, and truth be told the sex was amazing, but exhausting in its power struggle. And that was when they were both on the same page.

Bucky snaps at him, impatient. “Turn. Over.”

He’d reached Bucky when he was complacent, submitting, so slowly he turns, t-shirt tight around his chest as he twists, landing belly to the bed.

There’s hands at his belt and he lifts his hips automatically, an act that stuns him as the solider wastes no time in stripping him, pulling down jeans.

“Bucky…” His tone is quiet, desperate, and the Alpha above him pauses. “We… we can’t…”

“I remember.” Comes the voice behind him, and Steve’s heart hitches with an utterly unnamable emotion—relief, grief, heartache, pleasure—wrapped together inside his chest.

There’s another delicate touch to his nape, a sweet, sharp little kiss, as the other Alpha lays himself flush against his backside. Steve moans at the sudden head rush, as he feels himself swell, cock pinned between his body and the bed.

Bucky is behind him, his scent is all around him, Bucky is here, alive, back from the dead, his mate, his Alpha…

He rocks his hip and hears a pleased, guttural sound and he smells the slick of Bucky’s cock before he feels it pressed between his legs.

There’s a push, and the muscles of his thighs tighten as Bucky slides along the length of him, erection pushing between them and Bucky shudders, as he gives two small thrusts.

They rock, small squeaks from the bedframe as they move together, Steve twisting as he feels Bucky’s knot form, pushing against his backside and pressing.

God, he missed it. Missed being filled by his mate and Bucky growls. There’s a hand on the small of his back, Bucky’s still intact one, and he’s pressed harder as the Alpha pushes deeper, knot slipping past the thigh muscles and Steve presses them together, making it as tight and comfortable as possible and Bucky comes with a snarl. A metal arm leaves his wrist to grip his blond hair, and the sweet kiss from before is replaced with a sharp bite and Steve jolts as he feels himself release into the sheets.

“Mine.” And Steve nods, unable to speak, tears of relief and pleasure meeting the corner of his eyes.

“I’ve missed you. Oh God, Buck. I’ve missed you.” He whispers as the other shifts them, pulling him to his chest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a quick mention on my Tumblr that I actually wrote out. I tend to do that.
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> [BelladonnaQ.Tumblr.com ](http://www.belladonnaq.tumblr.com)


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